'My six-year-old takes Prozac'

Whenever I bring up the subject of my younger son and the fact that I worry about him my friends nod knowingly.

"I'm really worried about him right now," I say. And they respond, not unkindly, "You've been worried about him since he was born."

And they're right of course. I have been. My younger son came into the world in a hurry. There was no opportunity for his dad to cut the cord. The medical team did that and they whisked him away before either of us knew what was happening.

Nobody had mentioned there was any kind of problem, but in hindsight I do recall a sense of anxiety. The obstetrician was talking to me very firmly – telling me I had given up and that I must try harder. Somehow I did and my darling son arrived.

Later I discovered that because he was positioned incorrectly he’d been in grave danger. Me too. But within minutes he was handed to me and everything was declared to be officially okay. And it was – in broad terms anyway.

But this child, the absolute love of my life, along with his older brother that, has always had a flair for the dramatic. So much so that he broke my heart pretty much every day from that moment onwards.

It was clear he was anxious, even as a toddler. And his anxiety showed itself mainly by refusing to leave my side. He insisted on being within reach always – and I mean ALWAYS. He could not sit in a café unless it was beside me. He could not walk along a footpath unless he was holding my hand. He did his best to prevent his brother from taking even a moment of my time.

He couldn’t look anyone in the eye or exchange even a few words. He seemed sad and alone. Occasionally when I talked to him I could see his eyes were glassy with tears but he refused to communicate with me. He had mind-blowing, heart-wrenching, ear-piercing temper tantrums and I was constantly torn between wanting to protect him from his agony and giving him a good shake.

We visited with psychologists and counsellors and therapists. We’d make small progressive steps but daily life was a struggle. We visited with a developmental psychiatrist who took one look at my sweet, baby boy and immediately prescribed antidepressants.

He was six years old.

I was desperate and so agreed that we’d try them. And within weeks I had a completely different child on my hands. He was happy and sweet and light-hearted and lovely and he remains so. But I worry. I worry every day, all day, that I may be doing him some harm.

We continue to see a therapist regularly and that seems to help too. I know he loves me dearly and he knows he has my heart. Will we take him off the medication in the very near future? I suspect so. For even though it is clearly working I am not sure I can live with the idea that I’m medicating my son to make him fit into this world better. Surely there's something else that his father and I can do?